


Carry You Home

by UnspoiledMonster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Destiel - Freeform, Drama, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Grace, M/M, Oral Sex, Possession, Wings, pre-endverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnspoiledMonster/pseuds/UnspoiledMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Against the brightly shimmering inferno, Dean beheld the black silhouettes of two mighty wings unfold from the angel’s back. High and wide they stretched, framing Castiel’s head in a halo of blood-red fire. He didn’t yield. The heat stung mercilessly at Dean’s eyes but he could as much stand up and run as he could tear his eyes away from the angel before him, and the full divine force of God’s most loyal soldier."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry You Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever attempt at writing fanfiction. I did it as a writing challenge for myself since pretty much all my female friends are fangirls, and I thought it would be a fun little project. It's also the first time I've written for a specific audience, so I really look forward to hearing your opinions on it. 
> 
> Beta'd by [I'd insert her username here, but she wouldn't give it to me on account of it being too awkward, as I'd then have access to her fics, which I'm not allowed to read, apparently... So no credit for you! MWAHA!]
> 
> Thanks for reading.

Carry You Home

“Come on, Baby,” Dean pleaded through clenched teeth as he gripped the steering wheel even tighter until his knuckles cracked. “Don’t give up on me now!” As if in reply the engine coughed only once more before loyally growling louder and truer than ever beneath the black hood. Grateful, Dean relaxed his grip and stomped the pedal to the floor. Together they tore through the forest road with the Devil’s henchmen hot on their tail. 

“Cas must have taken care of that last one,” Sam said. “There are only two of them now.” Before he finished talking, Castiel materialized in the back seat, three inches from Sam’s nose. Sam didn’t flinch. 

“How did it go?” Dean asked. What he saw through the rear-view mirror troubled him greatly. Castiel stared into Dean’s eyes, looking distraught and frightened, almost wild. Something had happened. Something _bad_. A lump of ice slipped down into the pit of Dean’s stomach. “Cas?”

Before Castiel could open his mouth, the two remaining BMWs lunged forward. Dean could see black eyes gleaming from both of his mirrors. They were trying to catch him from both sides; trap him in a steel sandwich and force him to play by their rules. _Not on my watch_ , he thought fiercely and slammed the breaks. Sam cried out as the tires screeched for mercy and all three of them were shoved violently forward. The demons shot past them. Dean wasted no time. With the white smoke of burnt rubber stinging his nose, he spun the car around and left the demons to their own.

“Dean, no!” Castiel exclaimed. 

“What, why?” Sam asked, turning. Apparently he noticed nothing odd about Castiel. Dean did. The angel’s eyes were unsteady, his posture was tense, even his voice didn’t ring with the powerful rasp that always soothed Dean’s nerves in these situations. Castiel had been deeply shaken by something. Not many things had the power to do that. 

“It’s Lucifer,” Castiel said. Sam tensed up, but tried to hide it. Dean met his eye. They weren’t ready for this and they both knew it. 

Dean’s first instinct was to turn around, but the demons had turned around and were chasing them once again. He couldn’t hope to pull off the same trick twice in a row. They were trapped.

“Can’t you do something?” Dean growled. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Sam hiding something within the right fold of his jacket. He could only be clutching the hilt of the knife. _Don’t even think about it, Sam_ , he thought desperately.

“I told you before, Dean,” Castiel said. “Lucifer is too powerful. We need to get as far away from him as we can.” Sam might have been too preoccupied to see it, but to Dean, Castiel’s voice exposed the direness of their situation more than the words he chose ever could. _We’re so screw-_

“Dean, look out!” Sam bellowed. 

Dean caught sight of a lone figure standing broad-legged in the middle of the road. His face was blood red, and his eyes were glowing bright in the waning sunlight. Unfazed by the roaring ton of steel and rubber that threatened to smash him to pieces, Lucifer calmly waved his arm in a half-moon arc, and the Impala jerked to the right. Dean felt a painful jolt in his shoulder as the wheels lost contact with the ground and they soared through the air. The car tumbled. The roof came down on their heads as it smashed against the ground. Dean was thrown from his seat and fell into the wrecked rooftop, landing on his neck. 

He screamed. Blinded by the intense pain he could no longer tell which direction was down. The car kept tumbling. He didn’t know where Sam was, or Castiel. The world spun and ravaged him. He could no longer hear the noise and racket of ten tons of steel crashing into dirt and rock, but he could feel the blows. Whitest light and blackest darkness fought for the dominance of his vision. Neither won, and neither lost. 

Floating in a sea of pain, he slowly drifted ashore and shakily forced a short and painful gasp of air back into his lungs. _Sam_! Where was Sam? Dean blinked frantically, and his misty vision slowly cleared enough for him to barely see. 

He was lying on the ground. _Where’s the car_? he thought. His left cheek felt numb, and the other was burning. Millions upon millions of stabbing pins and needles abused the entire left side of his body, and the pain paralyzed him when he tried to move. 

“S-Sam…” he croaked. It was barely audible, even to his own ringing ears. Where was his brother? Where was Castiel?

_Where is Lucifer_?

“Dean!” a distorted voice called. _Cas_? A hand gently grabbed his shoulder and turned him over onto his back. Dean looked up to see Castiel kneel down and lean over him while staring intently into his eyes. He tenderly cradled Dean’s head in his left hand. “Dean, are you okay?” 

“Sam?” Dean whispered. 

“I’ll handle it,” Castiel said seriously. “Don’t move.”

With great care he propped Dean up against a tree and turned back to the impala. Dean rested his head and followed Castiel with his eyes. The angel stood tall before him. The brown trench coat was torn in places, and had spots of dirt on the elbows and all over the back. He didn’t move. Dean could not look past him without bending his neck, and that was impossible. 

“Cas?” he coughed. “What…is it?”

“I have never come across these flames before.” Castiel stepped aside to let Dean get a look. His eyes widened. The impala was on fire. Sparkling red flames was devouring the once perfect black polish, now scratched and beaten into a shadow of what it had been moments before. The roof had all but collapsed, and the two tires that Dean could see were bent out of shape. His poor Baby was a _wreck._

“Where is Sam?” he demanded, trying to get to his feet, but his body betrayed him. _This can’t be happening_! He mustered all the breath he could hold and yelled at the top of his lungs. “Sam!” 

“He’s trapped inside,” Castiel said calmly. Dean squinted and tried to look past the flames and into the impala. The red fire was smokeless, and it grew and swelled by the second. It was dancing ferociously around the car. No natural fire acted this way. This was Lucifer’s work.

Feeling the hair stand up at the back of his neck, Dean frantically stretched the narrow field of his vision to its absolute limits. Every minute turn of his head brought tears to his eyes but he gritted his teeth and forced his neck into submission, inch by inch, until he no longer could see Castiel. The road was empty. Even the demons were gone.

“Cas, where’s Lucifer?” Turning his head back was only slightly easier. Castiel stood motionless, peering at the burning car. Dean heard a faint knock. So faint that it almost drowned in the roaring hellfire, but it was there, and Dean’s heart swelled with renewed hope. _Sam is alive_. 

“I don’t know where Lucifer is.” With that, Castiel stepped forward. The flames suddenly erupted in a torrential blaze. 

Dean felt the scorching heat upon his face and cried out while shielding himself weakly with his right arm. Castiel ignored it. Unyielding he strode, arms at his side. Calm, but determined. The fire erupted again as if threatened by the angel’s approach, the desperate final cries of a cornered prey. 

Against the brightly shimmering inferno Dean beheld the black silhouettes of two mighty wings unfold from the angel’s back. High and wide they stretched, framing Castiel’s head in a halo of blood-red fire. He didn’t yield. The heat stung mercilessly at Dean’s eyes but he could as much stand up and run as he could tear his eyes away from the angel before him, and the full divine force of God’s most loyal soldier.

The flames grew wild and savage at Castiel’s unwavering approach. They shied from him, then they assaulted him. Dean could no longer withstand the singeing heat and had to shield himself. He buried his face in the corner of his elbow and squinted at Castiel. The silhouettes of his glorious wings suddenly retracted, and Dean almost thought he was hurt before he realized that he had engulfed himself with the wings. He was using them as a shield against the infernal hell. 

Sam was still alive. Dean could still hear him, banging at the door, fighting to get out. How anyone could possibly withstand such a torment was beyond Dean’s comprehension, but his brother had survived many things, more than he could have ever imagined. There was still hope. _Come on, Cas_! 

The angel stood upon the lip of the fire; black as night against the blood red onslaught that ripped and clamored at his wings. Then he took another step. 

The hellfire exploded. Its rage was so complete and fervent as it clawed at the angel in pure desperation and devilish fury. But Castiel endured. For a moment he seemed unaffected. His hand reached slowly for the door -Dean assumed he meant to rip it from its hinges- but then he stopped. Dean’s breath caught in his throat. _What’s wrong_? he thought, eyes wide. Castiel’s hand floated in the air, two inches from the door. All he had to do was reach out and yank out the incinerated metal plate and reach in for Sam. _You can’t be serious_.

“Cas, what are you doing?” 

Castiel turned. His blue eyes shone bright amidst the blazing flames and the blackened shadows. _Sam is right there_! Dean couldn’t hear him anymore, but he could still be alive. There was still a chance! Castiel’s face was shrouded in darkness. Among all his ragged features, only his eyes were discernable.

And his eyes were _screaming. ___

Castiel withdrew his hand. Dean’s heart crumbled at the sight of it. Hope bled from him like from an open wound in his chest. 

“Cas?” With grunts of pain he stomped against the ground with his heels and staggered upright along the tree. His legs felt mostly intact, though his left knee had taken a nasty beating. It felt like a cut, but his jeans hadn’t ripped, so he had to assume his knee was in better shape than it felt. “Cas, what the hell?” 

Castiel didn’t move. He stood among the flames with his eyes downcast, avoiding Dean’s gaze. It drove Dean mad. _What the hell are you doing, man? Are you just gonna stand there, looking like a lost puppy_? He said nothing of this out loud. Something in Castiel’s posture stopped him. He _did_ look lost. His eyes flickered back and forth across the ground as if he was struggling with something, as if he was arguing with himself. Dean made as if to step forward, but Castiel’s hand instantly came up.

“No, Dean. Stay back.” His voice was fierce, his command forceful, his eyes frightened. An icy claw gripped Dean’s soul and froze him.

“What’s going on, Cas?” he demanded. “Sam is still in there! What are you waiting for? Get him!” 

“I-” Castiel gaped. The hellfire swelled by the second, its arms reached high into the evening sky, and it roared mercilessly, assaulting the angel at every inch of his body. Soon he would be lost within the massive inferno. He stared at Dean in terror, as if he couldn’t believe what he himself was saying. “I can’t.” 

_I can’t_. The words boomed in Dean’s head. Over and over again. He didn’t realize that he stepped forward. Didn’t realize that he was midstride in a third step. The intense heat scorched his face. _You can’t_? His knee buckled under the strain, but his body straightened it. Through no conscious choice of his own did his right arm shield his singed face against the relentless onslaught of torturing hellfire. _You can’t save Sam_? He was sweating profusely underneath his clothing. The sweat on his forehead evaporated before it could even form. He couldn’t let it stop him.

_Sam_! 

Black smoke rose from the skin of his jacket. It would have stung his eyes had they not already been bone dry. It would have stung them had they not already been bleeding. When his foot touched the ground on the fifth step, his elbow caught fire. 

“Dean!” Castiel screamed wildly, but Dean ignored him. Sam was trapped in the car. He had to get him out. “Get back!” Castiel sprang from the fire. His black wings shot outward and clouted Dean in the chest with enough force to send him soaring through the air. All breath abandoned his lungs at the violent impact with the black asphalt, his sprained neck snapped and turned numb, and the last thing he heard before a sharp crack at the back of his head sent the world into darkness was the gruesome cry of an agonized angel.

* * *

Dean awoke to a cold surge of rejuvenating energy and feeling. Gasping as air refilled his lungs and brought life back into him, he opened his eyes and jerked upright in the span of a second. A warm but chilling pulse washed from his fingertips and up through his arm before it spread through his body like the ocean waves. The memories returned in the blink of an eye and he looked about himself wildly. Night had crept up on him. How long he had been out cold was impossible to tell. 

Feeling a weight on his hand he looked down. Castiel laid face down on the asphalt next to him, his lower body resting in the dirt by the side of the road. Two long scratches in the beaten soil trailed from Castiel’s legs and back towards the car. He had crawled from the fire and now his unconscious hand clutched Dean’s tightly. 

“Cas, are you hurt?” he asked, shaking Castiel’s shoulder. He had to have been conscious a moment ago, but Dean received no reaction. 

He gently pried Castiel’s fingers open, noticing soft blemishes underneath the ashen shell. Were they burns? Dean got up on one knee and meant to turn Castiel over onto his back, but then he saw the car. 

The Impala was no longer burning, but a whiff of burnt rubber and ash still lingered in the cooling nighttime air. Of his beloved Baby there was little left but an incinerated shell, a steel cage only barely resembling the polished Chevy that had been his pride and home for so many years. Time and time again he had brought her back to life from catastrophic destruction. Dents and scratches were trifles that any amateur could deal with; Dean had nurtured the Impala back from abuse that would leave lesser men with nothing but a pile of scrap-metal. He had promised his father to take care of it. And he had, until now. Not even he could bring her back from this. It was a wreck.

Of Sam there was no sign. 

“Sam!” he called into the dark of night. His voice broke through the trees and the open road, but he got no answer. The silence was absolute. Not even crickets sang that night. He was alone. “Sam!” he called again, refusing to acknowledge the blind desperation in his voice. Maybe Sam had gotten out. Maybe Castiel had gotten him out. Maybe he was lying unconscious somewhere nearby like Dean had. 

Dean circled the car, stubbornly fighting back the darkness welling up in him, suppressing it with all the strength his heart could muster. But it was no use. The ground around the car showed no sign of anything. He was alone. He fell to his knees in the charred grass, staring hopelessly through the gaping holes at the passenger seat, now nothing more than a steel frame, cold and lifeless. Sam had sat there. He had sat in that seat and trusted Dean with his life so many times. Dean had never let him down. _Until now_ , he thought. 

He had been too rash. He should never have pulled that stupid stunt to try and shake the demons. And now his moronic thrill-seeking had cost his brother his life. _I should have just kept driving. We could have gotten to Detroit and left Lucifer behind_. Perhaps it was for the best that the car was ruined. What had he ever done to deserve it? 

The raw steel on the broken door was cool under his palm. All the paint and glass had been devoured by the hellfire. Not even the shattered glass shards that must have flung from the car during the crash were anywhere near it. The window was wide open. He could have dragged Sam out through it. He could have saved him. _But I didn’t_. 

Dean’s eyes fell on a small charred lump at the bottom of the ashtray in the door. It was black, and he tried to fish it out with his little finger, only to find that it was stuck; seared to the metal. _Sam’s old army man._

He tried again to get it out, poking underneath it with his fingernail to unstick it from the metal, but it would not give. His jaw tightened at the strain. Why wouldn’t it loosen? It was just plastic. Sam had stuck the army man in there so long ago and they had never been able to get it out, but it was no longer an army man. Deep breaths flared through his nose as he jammed his fingernail into the tiny crack, hell-bent on getting it. He _was_ getting that army man out of the ashtray. 

A feverish sweat began to glisten his forehead and it gathered until a big drop slid down the length of his nose and vanished into the steel frame of the passenger’s seat. Dean, leaning in through the window, didn’t notice. He had only eyes for the unyielding remains of the army man, clamoring to the metal. It was crucial that he got it out. _Come on, let go_. His teeth ground together, and he let out a long sigh of relief when his nail finally slipped into the crack. Slowly and carefully he twisted his hand back and forth, trying to wiggle the army man free from the metal box. Suddenly he heard a snap and a painful sting pricked his finger as it skipped free from the crack. He yanked his hand to his mouth and sucked on the wounded finger, feeling the sharp edge of his broken nail with his tongue, while a sour taste of metallic blood spread to every corner of his mouth.

_I’m sorry, Sammy_ , he thought hopelessly, falling to his knees and heaving for breath. He felt sick. Sick with the taste of blood and the thorn in his throat. _I shouldn’t have_... Shouldn’t have what? What was the point? Sam was gone. His father was gone. Bobby was gone. Dean was all alone. His little finger throbbed with a dull ache while the void inside of him kept swelling and he became a tiny speck floating aimlessly in the middle of it. He couldn’t even get a piece of plastic out of an ashtray. He was _useless._

“Dean.” At first he assumed it was his imagination, but then the voice called his name again. He shakily got to his feet and looked around, trying to follow the voice. 

“Cas?” 

The angel still lay face down on the ground, but he was stirring. Dean leapt up and ran to him and turned him over. _Son of a bitch_ , he thought. Castiel’s face and clothes were pitch black with ash and soot, while a shimmer of dark red spots on his cheeks glowed through the thick black blanket. He was burned, and badly. Dean gently lifted his head with his left hand and leaned close. “Cas, are you okay? What the hell happened?”

Castiel opened his eyes weakly and looked at him. “Dean. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said dismissively. “Can you stand up?” 

Castiel grimaced and lifted his head an inch before it fell back into Dean’s hand. He let out an exasperated sigh and closed his eyes again.

“Cas? Cas!” It was no use. The angel was unconscious. 

_Son of a bitch_! Dean gently lowered Castiel’s head to the ground and got up, his mind clearing. They couldn’t stay there. Demons could come for them at any moment. He had to get Castiel somewhere safe. 

Without much hope he kicked open the trunk of the Impala. As he had expected, the contents were destroyed. The guns had melted out of shape, as had the machetes and the knives. Dean’s heart dropped. He picked up a machete. Its wooden handle had turned to coal, and the malformed blade was charred black. Running his thumb along the once so sharp edge he realized it would just as easily serve as a saw as it would a knife. His mood darkened and he threw the serrated blade back into the trunk and smashed it shut. There was nothing for them in this place. They had to move on. But where? 

Before Dean could figure it out, a low but steady hum broke through the silence. He sprang to the road and glared into the darkness in both directions. _There_. Back the way they had come from he saw four bright headlights make the turn. _Humans, or demons_? he thought as a cold shiver ran up his spine. They drove side by side with an eerie precision. Neither veered from side to side. They glided along as if they were locked together on a conveyor belt. _Demons_. 

Desperate with the painful knowledge that he had nothing to defend himself with, Dean wasted no time trying to wake Castiel. He went down on one knee and yanked on Castiel’s arm until he sat upright and then embraced his waist before Dean straightened his knee and lifted the unconscious angel up on his shoulder. He heard a muffled grunt, probably in pain.

“Sorry, pal. But we’re sort of in a hurry here. You’ll thank me later.” Dean stood up and almost lost his balance, sending them both tumbling, but he got his foot down underneath them at the last second and steadied himself. “…hopefully.”

The cars drew closer and closer, but Dean had no intention of sticking around for the party. Especially not when he had a nagging suspicion that not only was he the guest of honor, but that he was also the entertainment for the evening. Not to mention the feast.

“I know I taste pretty good,” he mumbled at the oncoming lights. “But I’ve never been much of a stand-up comedian.”

With an angel on his shoulder, Dean turned his back on the cars and stepped gingerly into the dark forest behind the Impala. It was cumbersome, as he couldn’t see where to put his feet, and the weight of his unconscious friend could easily topple him should he step into some stray root or gaping rabbit hole. 

Once they were safely out of sight from the road, Dean propped Castiel against a tree and snuck a peak back at the crash-site. The demons parked so that the headlights lit up the shell of the Impala, and stepped out. Two men. Even though he could not see the black in their eyes, they moved with the stiff and robotic sense of purpose that Dean had long ago attributed to the possessed. The two men stared silently at the remnants of the hellfire, heads turning slowly from side to side as they inspected the area. He let them search. There was nothing more for him in this place. With one last yearning look at Sam’s final home, broken; like every home he had ever known; Dean gathered Castiel’s weight onto his shoulder and walked away into the darkness.

* * *

It was an hour past sunrise when he finally found a place to stay, an abandoned hunter’s cabin at the top of a wide hill. Beside it ran a small trickling stream lined with low hanging bushes. Off in the vast distance rose the tip of a tall radio tower out of the tall spruce trees, and besides the cabin it was the only sign of humanity for miles and miles. 

The crystal stream seeped into Dean’s shoes and soothed his sore toes blissfully. He stood in it a long while, just relishing the feeling before he lowered Castiel to the grass on the bank. He scooped a hand into the water and brought it to Castiel’s face, tenderly rubbing away the soot and the ash. Beneath it all his face was bright red and covered in blisters, some had burst, others were about to. Dean winced as he accidentally popped one, but Castiel didn’t seem to notice. He was in delirium. Many times through the night Dean had heard him mumbling, but he could never make out what, and repeated attempts at contact had proven futile. 

Carefully he dragged the blackened trench coat off Castiel’s arms and made a makeshift bed with it by the stream. He slipped a finger into the loop of his blue tie and loosened it before throwing it aside. It was ruined anyway. _I’ll get you a new one_ , he promised as he lifted Castiel’s head to rest on his own shoulder while he removed the jacket. Suddenly he paused. Castiel was hot. _Too_ hot. Dean felt a dull heat radiating onto his own neck and cheek, almost painfully so. He quickly dragged the jacket all the way off and bundled it up to make a pillow. The ashes must have provided some cooling, because he had not been this hot a moment earlier. Dean could barely touch his face. 

“Cas,” he muttered, peering into Castiel’s half-open eyes. “Cas, wake up!” But he received no response. The burns from the hellfire had to be the reason for his unconsciousness. He couldn’t let him keep suffering like this. He quickly took his own shirt off and soaked it in the cold stream. “Cas,” he said louder while he dabbed at Castiel’s burns with the shirt as gently as he could. It wasn’t working as well as he had hoped. Castiel showed no signs of waking. “That’s fine,” he mumbled. “You rest. I’ll take care of it.”

Dean soaked his shirt again and arranged it to rest on Castiel’s face, leaving his mouth and nose uncovered. Then he resumed unclothing him. He slowly and meticulously unbuttoned Castiel’s white shirt, -only slightly blackened in the front where it had been exposed to the hellfire- nimbly letting his fingers slip beneath the tight folds and loosen the cloth, one button after another. An urge to see what hid under the shirt tickled him in the back of his head, but Dean ignored it. If Castiel was burned, then it was best that he proceeded gently. 

Once the final button let go Dean grasped each side between thumb and index finger and in a smooth motion unveiled Castiel’s torso. The white skin on his chest was not burnt. It seemed his clothes had provided more than a little protection. 

Dean laid his palm in the center of the angel’s ribs and was relieved to feel that his heartbeats were slow and steady. At least he wasn’t fighting for his life. That was something. Dean wanted to keep checking for more burns but an odd sense of peace caught him. He couldn’t let go. Feeling the soft rise and fall of Castiel’s warm chest with the pleasant rhythmic beats caused his own heart and breath to calm. With his thumb he stroked the smooth skin. No scars or imperfections spoiled the angelic surface. It felt so soft against the callused harshness of his own fingers. Not even Lisa had such velvety skin. 

_Why am I comparing Cas to Lisa_? he thought, unable to find an answer. He shook his head. _Now’s not the time_. Almost reluctantly he let go of Castiel’s chest and pulled the shirt all the way off, revealing his lean shoulders and arms. Only the parts of him that had been in direct contact with the hellfire seemed to be burned. His arms were smooth and healthy, and Dean could spot no blemish further up than an inch from the wrists. Just to make sure, he untied Castiel’s shoelaces and pulled off his shoes as well. Thankfully, his feet, too, were unharmed. 

Relieved, Dean got behind Castiel and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him into the cool stream that had relieved his own sore feet so magnificently. He fished his wallet and phone from his pockets and threw them onto the makeshift bed before he sat down in the water with a soft _splash_. The inevitable sudden rush of adrenaline as the cold water assaulted his balls caused his heart to instantly quicken and he involuntarily hissed. 

The moment Castiel’s body touched the water, he immediately began to stir. Dean’s heart leapt up and he cradled Castiel’s head on his thigh to keep him breathing with ease. He soaked his shirt again and squeezed it in the air, letting water drip onto Castiel’s forehead, watching as the icy droplets trickled down his wounded face. Dean let it drip onto his cracked lips and watched in fascination as a curious tongue emerged to lick the drops away. 

“Cas?” He could have laughed with pure relief when consciousness returned to Castiel’s bloodshot eyes and he looked bewildered up at Dean. “Are you okay, man?”

“Dean?” Castiel furrowed his brow and glanced about them. He tried to lift his head, but a short attempt proved too much and Dean soon felt the weight of Castiel’s head upon his thigh once again. Exhaustion slurred his words. “Where are we? Where is Lucifer?” 

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted sourly, gritting his teeth. All through the night he had made enough vows to hunt down that son of a bitch to last him until Judgment Day. _Now’s not the time_ , he told himself firmly. “We’re safe, for now. Can you heal yourself? Or do you need more time?”

Castiel’s eyes became distant as he meditated on Dean’s words, as if he was not sure what Dean meant. Then he closed his eyes. Dean excitedly anticipated the burns to vanish and Castiel’s proud face to return. Somehow, the feeling was stronger than he felt it ought to have been. _It’s just Cas_ , he reminded himself. But the feeling didn’t diminish. If anything, at the acknowledgement that it was just Castiel, it grew stronger. 

Castiel’s lips tightened. “I can’t heal,” he said, eyes still closed but frowning deeply. “It’s strange. I should be able to, but I can’t. Something is happening to me.”

“What do you mean? Don’t tell me you’ve lost your powers.” 

Castiel shook his head. “No, it’s different. It’s not that I don’t have my powers.” He slowly lifted his right hand out of the water and inspected it, turning it this way and that in the air in front of them. The blisters on the back of his hand were horrific. The pain had to be excruciating. Dean almost winced just from the sight of it. “Look.”

Dean stared intently at the back of Castiel’s hand as the blisters slowly changed. It began in the middle; just a tiny spot that slowly swelled until it covered most of his hand. The blisters vanished and Dean marveled as the same angelic paleness that graced Castiel’s chest emerged and the hand was good as new.

“See, you _can_ heal,” Dean exclaimed, but Castiel shook his head again. 

“Only a tiny fraction at a time. Something is wrong with me, Dean.” His voice cracked. No longer did he speak in the intense monotone that was his habit. He sounded worried, even frightened. “I’m getting weaker by the second.” Both of his hands suddenly shot up and grasped Dean’s arms and he pulled himself twistingly to a sitting position, pulling himself close to Dean’s face. “I’m losing my powers, Dean.” A shimmering dampness flooded his pleading eyes. “The power given to me by my father is fading from me. It’s almost all gone. Make it stop, Dean. Please, _make it stop_!” 

“How? What do I do?” Dean asked desperately. What did he know of angel-powers? Nothing he had ever faced had prepared him for this. He could only watch hopelessly as Castiel lost himself to the terror that he now felt, as his arms began to tremble and his eyes flood in tears. _No, not you too. Please_. Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel’s shivering body and pulled him close. “Cas, I don’t know what to do. You’ve got to tell me.” 

But Castiel was falling. He buried his face into Dean’s chest so tightly that his ribs hurt. He babbled incoherently. Never had he seen the angel so out of it. Castiel’s bare back trembled violently in fear and panic, and there was nothing else that Dean could do but to stroke him slowly in the meager comfort he could provide. He didn’t know what to say to him, what he could do to fix him. Dean could fix cars, and guns. He couldn’t fix angels.

His thumb brushed against a hard rough spot on Castiel’s back and he stiffened. In his hurry to tend to Castiel’s blisters he had neglected to check his back for any injuries. Now he discovered them; two gaping black wounds on each shoulder blade. _The wings_. They were charred and crusty, and only a tiny stump on the left wound retained any impression of the mighty angelic wings that had without a doubt saved Castiel’s life. Dean felt a hollow emptiness in his heart at the sight of them. 

“Cas.” He lifted beneath Castiel’s shoulders and forced him up to his knees. “Cas, look at me! There’s still time. You can still heal yourself.” Castiel’s bloodshot eyes shifted from side to side and Dean could not tell if he had even heard a word. He grabbed the now healed hand by the wrist and brought it up to Castiel’s face. “Look, your hand is fine; there’s not a scratch on it! Now snap out of it and start healing, one piece at a time.” 

He dropped the hand and watched hopelessly as it fell limply into the water. Castiel resumed his babbling and Dean could still not understand a word. _Come on, man_ , Dean thought desperately. He wanted to smack some sense into Castiel but the blisters and sores that covered his face stayed his hand. Castiel had suffered enough pain already. 

But Dean was getting sick of this. _If pain won’t do it, then I know what will_ … He grasped Castiel around his neck and shoved his head into the cold water. Castiel didn’t even react at first. Dean felt no resistance until three long seconds had passed and Castiel started struggling against his hand. He held. Castiel started thrashing. His arms flailed and sprayed icy water into Dean’s face, but still Dean refused to let go. Castiel was still not resisting enough. He needed Castiel to snap out of his pathetic self-pity. It was not like him. He was better than this.

As if rising to the challenge, Castiel’s thrashes grew stronger. He clawed at Dean, leaving deep gouges of red along his forearms. _Snap out of it, Cas_ , he thought mercilessly. Castiel was hardly struggling at all. Dean had seen him lift a literal ton of steel without twitching an eyebrow. “For Christ’s sake, Cas. Save yourself!”

The water around Castiel’s head frothed as his thrashing suddenly exploded in ferocity. A force stronger than anything Dean had ever known rose from the deep within Castiel, and he shot up. Dean tried to force him back down, but it was like standing up against a freight train. Castiel was _back._

Arms solid as brick walls threw Dean backwards and he soared ten feet through the air. His back smashed hard against the water, splitting the river and drenching the entire grassy area around him. He was swallowed by the stream and an involuntary gasp filled his lungs with ice cold water. 

Dean fought against the current and managed to get to his knees as he chokingly coughed up mouthfuls of water. _So this is what drowning feels like_. He steadied himself with his left arm on the round pebbles at the bottom of the stream. _I don’t care for it_.

After a painful gasp for air he blinked the water out of his eyes and stared at Castiel. The angel stood tall in the middle of the river, water circling his shins. Crystal drops, glistening brightly against the shimmering sunrise behind him, ran down his arms and legs and dripped from his chin and onto his heaving chest. Like Dean, he too was gasping for air, and his shoulders swelled and dropped erratically. He stared at Dean with blood-red eyes. 

He looked hurt. 

“Look, Cas-“

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel interrupted. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

_Why does he always do that_? Dean thought. _It’s my turn to apologize for once_. He didn’t. Instead he got unsteadily to his feet. “No, Cas. It’s alright.” He stepped up to Castiel but then stopped, unsure how to proceed. He settled for a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, and he didn’t admit to himself that he was not satisfied with that. 

Their breaths settled, but neither said anything. Dean was only too aware that he hadn’t actually apologized. _Just say it_ , he told himself. But looking into Castiel’s eyes, the words grew too heavy for his tongue to lift. They were stuck.

“So, how about we get those burns healed. What do you say?” He jokingly clapped Castiel’s arm and grinned awkwardly, silently kicking himself in frustration. Castiel was not amused. Not that he ever was, but he seemed even _more_ tense than usual. He stared into Dean’s eyes as if searching for something, as if waiting. Dean’s mask slipped. “Cas? Are you-” 

Suddenly, without warning, Castiel’s face closed the gap between them and stopped Dean’s moving mouth with his own. Stunned, Dean tried to recoil, but Castiel held him firmly with both hands on Dean’s arms. His cracked lips were rough, and a sour but somehow endearing metallic taste overpowered Dean’s senses. He held his breath and stopped struggling. Castiel’s eyes, now closer to Dean’s than they had ever been before, were open, and Dean gazed far into the world beyond. 

Their chests touched, and once again Dean could feel Castiel’s steady heartbeats drum against his own skin. Eventually -Dean couldn’t even tell how long it had lasted. Minutes?- Castiel broke the kiss with a wet smack. Dean’s head spun. His heart was suddenly racing, and he couldn’t tell why. Thoughts of Lisa flashed through his mind, but vanished again. Lisa was gone. Only Castiel remained. He was the last constant presence in Dean’s life.

The only one he had left. 

Their heads stayed no more than two inches apart. When Dean tried to back away he felt an almost magnetic force holding him in place. He stopped trying. But Castiel’s bloodshot eyes stirred another, more pressing thought.

“Cas,” he said at last, but it was more like a growl, and he hadn’t intended that. He quickly cleared his throat and tried again, softer this time. “Cas, you’ve _got_ to heal yourself. If you have these burns when the last of your angel powers vanish, you’ll be incapacitated. You’ll be scarred for life.” He lifted Castiel’s injured hand and cradled it between them. The hand was almost blood red, only broken by the occasional white flake of loose curled skin. “Look at it.” 

Without saying anything, Castiel nodded solemnly and closed his eyes. The same unknown force that kept Dean from leaning away now tried to nudge him forward, closer to the unaware angel. He resisted the urge and instead kept his eyes on the hand that rested lightly on top of his own. The healing process took longer this time. The coin-shaped spot of pale skin expanded much more slowly, and he got the sense that the burnt scars fought _back_ against Castiel’s healing. 

When he was done, Castiel let out a sigh and opened his eyes. “It’s getting harder, Dean. I don’t know if I can heal it all. The burns are starting to hurt.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Dean could no longer resist the invisible hand pressing the back of his head, and he leaned ever so slightly forward. He wanted to feel the closeness again. He needed to. He _had_ to. Castiel must have felt the same as he, too, came closer, until Dean could feel his warm breath tickle his face. “Here,” he whispered, placing a finger on Castiel’s damp lips. “Start here.”

Castiel did as he was told without question and closed his eyes once more. It was all Dean could do to keep their faces apart as he watched Castiel’s cracked lips become smooth and dark and full of life. He could only imagine the sweet taste, the softness of his- _What am I even doing_? he asked himself, and promptly stopped imagining anything at all. Though he still did not back away. 

The warrior’s face of his old friend was slowly reborn from the ashes of the Devil’s hellfire. The chiseled chin that was always rough with stubble, the cheekbones, and the thick eyebrows that always made his face look so goddamned _intense_. The red burns and white blisters vanished, and all of Castiel’s proud features returned. 

Those dark blue eyes that a moment ago had been dry and bloodshot finally opened and Dean allowed himself to get lost in their power. 

Without breaking the unseen bond that locked them together he traced the length of Castiel’s lean arms from the newly healed hands and past his solid forearms and over his shoulders and down to the hard crusty scars of his ruined wings, taking great care not to touch the wounds.

“Now this,” he whispered. “It’s the last, right?” 

Castiel nodded gravely. “I don’t know if I can, Dean. I’m weak. I’m nothing but a shadow of my former self.” He averted his eyes.

“Hey, look at me.” Dean lifted Castiel’s chin and leaned in even closer until he could see nothing but the vast world within Castiel’s deep blue. “Remember what you said to me when we first met? When you first spread those wings for me? Because I do. You are not weak, Cas. You are an angel of the goddamn lord. You’ve saved our asses more times than I can count. You got me out of Hell, you got Sam out of the cage, and then you saved him from insanity. You’ve double-crossed the King of Hell. You, and you alone, managed to contain every single bloody soul in purgatory. You are _not_ weak.” 

Castiel’s eyes glistened at Dean’s words, but at the same time he looked ashamed. As if none of those deeds could be attributed to him. 

“Come on, man,” Dean pleaded and leaned his forehead against Castiel’s. “You’re not weak, Cas. You’re awesome!” He gently cupped the wounded stump on Castiel’s back and felt him wince at the pain. It burned hot in the palm of his hand. If it wasn’t infected now, it would be very soon. “But you can’t walk around with this. You need to get rid of it.” … _And let go of the last part of you that makes you divine_ , he thought sadly. 

Castiel took a deep breath. His whole body tensed. Dean felt it, and embraced Castiel tighter still. He felt the wound begin to shift underneath his hand. It shrunk, and the charred crust that had been rough and serrated a moment before became softer and smoother. 

“That’s it,” he exclaimed. “Keep going, Cas, you’re almost there.” 

But Castiel was struggling. His face contorted in agony, and each drawn breath grew shallow and raspy through clenched teeth. A thick vein appeared in the middle of his forehead, protruding and pulsating madly from the immense strain. Every breath became a pained grunt. 

Dean held his breath. The diminishing stump was almost gone, but there was still the final wound. _Come on, Cas_! The grunts turned into cries, and his back shook. The stump vanished, and Castiel showed signs of wanting to stop.

“No, Cas, come on! Just a little bit more.” 

“I-I _can’t_ ,” Castiel cried between pained gasps. “My powers are almost gone, Dean, I can’t do it!” he continued as tears started to drip from his clenched eyes. “It _hurts_.” 

“Do it!” Dean mercilessly pressed a finger into the middle of the wound and kept it there. Castiel cried out in anguish and squeezed Dean’s arms so tightly that his nails pierced his skin, but Dean only pressed harder. “Heal it, Cas. Heal it, or you’ll have to live with this pain. It’ll get infected. It’ll hurt worse than this. You could _die_ from it. Heal!” 

“Dean, please...” Castiel begged breathlessly. “Stop.” He trembled as his body sunk; the tormenting pain kicking him down. His right hand loosened its grip and pushed weakly at Dean’s shoulder. 

“Heal, Cas,” Dean said, urging him on. His bleeding heart twisted at the sound of Castiel’s broken pleads, and he shared the pain. He was right there with him. “Heal.”

And Castiel healed. Dean felt a sudden chill underneath his finger that swelled slowly. Much _too_ slowly. He could hear nothing but the dire screams against his chest and the roaring blood that rushed in his ears. He felt the wound on his own back, digging and clawing and burning within his shoulder blade. Castiel gripped him so tightly that he couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t want to. He let go of the wound and embraced Castiel just as tightly, joining in the wild and soul-shattering agony until at last the final trace of the wound was gone and Castiel the angel was no more. 

Castiel the human fell limp into Dean’s arms.

* * *

Dark shadows crept silently along the walls and across the floor and down from the ceiling of the cabin. Their arms grew stronger with each passing moment, and soon the only force keeping them at bay were the flickering tongues of the small fire crackling in the stove across from the bed where Castiel lay sleeping. Dean sat at the foot of the bed with his back against the wall and let the hours pass by unnoticed. Only when the flames devoured themselves and turned into embers did he get up to bring life back into the fire. Then he sat back down, and waited.

 

The cabin was old, and - Dean judged by the layer of dirt and dust on the floor- had not been used for years. The bed and the stove and a small table by the window were the only furniture in the cramped living space, and the entire place reeked of old dry wood. The floors creaked whenever Dean walked around, and so he tried to keep from moving should he accidentally wake Castiel. But his feet itched. He needed to do _something_.

He rested one arm on his upright knee and absentmindedly swirled the old polaroid between his fingers, occasionally glancing at it, but never really seeing it. In the waning light he could no longer make out Sammy’s face or his father’s eyes, or his own thirteen year-old naïve grin. Now all he could see were the general outlines of the three of them, sitting together on the hood of a pitch black Impala; the two brothers on each side of their father. It used to be one of his most cherished memories. Now only shadows and darkness remained.

Each time he got up to stoke the fire he wanted to throw the picture into the flames. Each time he held it between the tips of his fingers over the open grate. Each time he couldn’t bring himself to let go of it. 

So he sat back down, and soon the world outside the cabin ceased to exist. The windows turned black. Nothing sounded in the night, not even crickets. The only world that still existed was the bed and the fire, and the deep orange lights that danced somberly on the floor between them. The only sounds were the crackling logs and the sizzling wood and the steady breath of his one last friend, his last true companion, deep asleep beside him.

Castiel hadn’t moved since he fainted outside in the river, Dean had worried that the strain had proved too much for him; that he had slipped into a coma that he wouldn’t wake up from, but after carrying him in and hearing his breath settle peacefully Dean had relaxed. Castiel was simply exhausted. 

As was Dean. More than once he had glanced over at Castiel and wanted to lie down beside him. To feel the warm skin against his own and to touch his chest again to let his calm heartbeats carry Dean off to a better place. He needed it. He ached for it. It was a yearning stronger than anything he had ever felt before, and it _frightened_ him.

So he didn’t dare. Instead he waited, fighting against sleep and exhaustion, wrestling against grief and sorrow, denying himself love. 

It was nearly midnight and Dean’s head began to droop when Castiel finally stirred. Dean felt a pair of groggy feet push against his thigh, and watched as Castiel turned on the old bed. 

“Cas?” he asked softly. 

At first there was no answer, but then Castiel’s head came up and his deep voice rang like music. “Dean?” He tried to sit up but Dean quickly scooted over to his side of the bed and pushed him down, gently, but firmly.

“Don’t. Give it a minute. You’ve been out for hours. Do you want anything? There’s no food around here, but I can go get some water from the river.” 

Castiel shook his head. “I’m fine, Dean.” At Dean’s name, Castiel’s voice turned raspy, and he coughed. Dean needed no further inclination. 

“Wait here,” he said and promptly got up and grabbed an old empty bottle that was standing on a shelf by the stove before he walked out into the night.

The air was chilly, and the water was close to freezing, but he cheerfully ignored it and rinsed the bottle before he filled it and returned to the cabin. Castiel had sat up on the bed and his bare legs hung over the side. His feet were neatly planted a shoulder-length apart on the dusty floor, and he sat leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, his back curved.

“I feel different,” he said as soon as Dean had closed the door. 

“Different? Different how?” Dean asked, though he had a feeling he knew the answer. He handed Castiel the bottle and watched in fascination as he upended it and gorged on its content. His Adam’s apple bounced up and down with each gulp, and a couple of shiny droplets, yellow from the fiery light, trickled down his chin and his neck and past his pronounced collar-bone and further on down to his chest. Dean wanted to wipe it off with a finger, but fought the urge and instead sat down next to him.

“I feel…” Castiel gasped after swallowing the entire bottle. He stared at it hungrily. “Empty.” He turned to Dean, the orange flames flickering in his dark eyes. “The light has left me. My powers… I’m not an angel anymore, Dean.” 

Dean nodded sadly. _And it’s my fault_ , he thought, turning away, unable to look Castiel in the eye. _I shouldn’t have forced you into this. Shouldn’t have made you spend all your powers. Should never have hurt you like that_. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said. Dean almost laughed. _Here we go again_.

“You’re sorry? For what?” 

“For Sam.” 

At the mention of Sam’s name, Dean was transported back to the crash site, and the torrential hellfire, and the wrenching pain in his heart returned. It took all of his willpower to keep himself from breaking down. He wouldn’t let Castiel see him like that. Not now, not ever. He got up and walked over to the window, peering out at the pitch black nothing.

“You did what you could, Cas. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have got him out of there.” He could hear Castiel shift on the bed. In the window’s reflection he saw him standing up and, true to his habit, let his arms hang loosely at his side.

“Yes, Dean, I could have.” 

“What?” he spun around. Castiel didn’t flinch.

“I could have gotten Sam out.” 

Dean’s eyes widened. “Well then why the hell didn’t you?” he snapped, unbelieving. “Why didn’t you save him?” He felt dizzy. He assaulted Castiel, grabbed him harshly by the shoulders and shook him. “Are you out of your goddamned mind?” 

Castiel said nothing. He stared silently at Dean and let himself get shaken. 

“You just stood by and let him die? _Why_?” Dean demanded.

“I had to,” Castiel said. 

“What?” Dean let go of him. None of it made any sense. He needed air.

“I heard him,” Castiel said seriously. “I heard Lucifer in my head. ‘Whomever you choose, Castiel, defender of humanity,’ he told me. ‘I will take the other.’ And I made my choice.” Castiel’s eyes glimmered. “I chose you, Dean. I will always choose you.” 

Dean’s head spun. Sam could have made it. Castiel could have gotten him out, but he hadn’t. He let him burn just because of Lucifer’s lies. 

_You let him burn_. 

When Castiel placed his hand on Dean’s arm, Dean smacked it away. “Don’t touch me,” he spat. Castiel’s eyes dropped and he rubbed his hand with a bewildered frown. Dean hadn’t meant to hurt him. Or had he? _You could have gotten Sam out_! he thought furiously. He couldn’t stay in that stifling wooden coffin any longer. Not with _him_. Dean turned on his heels and yanked the door open, but then he stopped. 

_You let him die_. 

He peered over his shoulder at Castiel, who stood by the bed, still rubbing his hand, staring at him like an abandoned puppy. “You should have picked Sam.” 

He slammed the door shut behind him.

* * *

The night closed in around him the second he stepped outside the door. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t think. But he could not go back inside. The tiny light from the window was not enough to make out anything beyond the front porch of the cabin, and only the trickling sound of the small river broke the illusion that he was floating in empty space. There was nowhere left for him to go. He sat down where he stood and leaned his back against the door.

The wood chilled his legs through his jeans, but he ignored it. It was only fitting that he should freeze. He deserved it. 

_I shouldn’t have done that_ , he thought sourly and wiped his damp cheek with the palm of his hand. Castiel was the only thing he had left and now he had even messed that up. His words echoed in his head again and again. _I will always choose you, Dean_. Dean didn’t deserve to be chosen. Sam did.

_You should have picked Sam_. 

A lone owl hooted somewhere in the dark. Dean couldn’t make out where it came from. Not that he cared. 

He heard the slow uncertain footsteps come to the door long before he heard the timid sound of Castiel’s voice. 

“Dean?” 

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t look Castiel in the eye after what he did. For a moment he thought about leaving. He could get through the woods and back to the road easily enough. Castiel could take care of himself. He’d probably do better without Dean’s albatross hanging around his neck bringing him down all the time. He stood up and had taken two steps when the door opened. 

Castiel stood in the doorway, naked above the waist. They stared at each other. Neither one said anything. Castiel’s dark blue eyes gleamed in the dark, and the light from the fire cast a glow that illuminated his beautiful pale skin. He still looked like an angel to Dean. 

Castiel let the door swing all the way open and stood there in silence, unmoving, waiting, waiting for Dean to do what he needed to do. Dean felt a pull. He tried to fight it, but it was so strong, stronger than the invisible bonds that earlier had brought them so close, in the river. He felt like Castiel had caught his heart with a thousand fishhooks and was reeling him in. And Dean couldn’t find any more reasons to deny it any longer. _Enough with this soap opera crap_ , he thought, and drew Castiel into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Castiel whispered into Dean’s ear and Dean could feel his breath tickling his neck, sending a soft shiver trickling down his spine, past Castiel’s strong hands. They made him feel so _safe_. His own hands went on a journey, just exploring Castiel’s powerful warmth, and he relished the feeling it gave him. 

Castiel buried his face in the hollow of Dean’s neck and his breathing quickened. Dean felt Castiel’s hands begin to move, slowly up and down and from side to side across Dean’s back. Traces of the slightly moldy smell of the old bed still clung to his skin, but underneath it, Castiel’s clean scent emerged. It’s sourly sweetness drove Dean mad. 

Suddenly two wet lips brushed against the soft spot above Dean’s collarbone and he gasped, tensing his whole body while he shuddered in delight. Castiel jerked his head back. 

“Cas, what…?” Dean asked, still keeping his arms around him, unable to let go.

Castiel didn’t look at him, and his eagerness that had been so vigorous a moment ago seemed to have vanished. His voice sounded shameful. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt you, Dean.”

Dean barked a laugh. Angel or not, Castiel was still the same. _I’ll show you how much it hurt_. Rather than explaining, he leaned forward and kissed Castiel on the same spot above his left collarbone. His skin was warm beneath his lips, and Dean felt his tense shoulders rise and fall while he sighed deeply. _You like that_? he thought excitedly. _How about this, then_? Dean pressed his tongue out between his pursed lips and tickled Castiel’s neck with several little tongue kisses. Meanwhile, he worked his hands further and further down, inch by inch, ever so tenderly down Castiel’s bare back. It was a move he had used on Lisa all the time, and he fondly recalled just how effective it was. A tremor convulsed through Castiel’s body, and he gasped, just like Dean had. _Didn’t hurt that much did it_? he thought, grinning.

Dean took the shudder as a sign to keep going, but Castiel suddenly pushed his shoulders back and forced Dean’s head up. Before he could say anything, he discovered something in Castiel’s eyes. 

Pure _lust_.

Seeing the storming desire within Castiel filled Dean with an aching desperation he had never felt before. Not even Lisa had been able to evoke these feelings. Being with Castiel made him feel so _alive_. Blood rushed through his veins like pure petrol through his Baby’s fuel lines. His baby… Images of the wreck flashed across his eyes, but he pushed them away before they could affect him. Screw the car. He had everything he needed right here, everything he wanted. 

And he wanted it _now_.

He kicked the door shut with a bang, grabbed Castiel by the shoulders and shoved him backwards into the cabin. The same yearning within him he could smell on Castiel’s skin, could see it in his eyes, and could feel it in his soul. It was there, clear as day. And when Dean finally pressed his lips against Castiel’s, he was not surprised to feel him return the kiss. 

Their hands came together and Dean kept shoving Castiel backwards until they both fell onto the bed, Dean on top of Castiel. Their tongues wrestled fiercely, and Dean was shocked by the minty taste of Castiel’s lips. He broke the kiss and looked down at Castiel.

“Dude, you taste awesome,” he said, resting his forehead on Castiel’s. “Did you steal gum from my jacket?” He knew the answer. Castiel had probably been planning this even before he opened the door. 

“There was one left,” Castiel said straightforwardly, as if he had all the right in the world. Perhaps he did. Dean had no objections, and he wasted no time shrugging it off before he dove into Castiel’s lips again. It was just a quick kiss. He wanted more. He wanted _everything_. 

Something stirred in his pants. 

He sat up to pull his shirt off, and the time their bodies spent apart almost felt like torture. Castiel’s fingers trailed across Dean’s chest, teasingly circling his nipples without touching them, and a soft shudder trailed down his spine as he wrenched his shirt off and threw it aside. 

He waited, still sitting upright with both knees on either side of Castiel’s hips, and closed his eyes while Castiel’s hands inched their way down past his chest and further on down his ribs. Usually it had always been him that did the touching. Women were made to be touched, while men were made to- _Actually_ , he thought, peeking down at Castiel. _There’s plenty to touch on men, too_. Castiel might not have any pronounced curves or luscious breasts, but he had other qualities. Curious, Dean ran a hand along Castiel’s thighs. They were so strong, so firm. So unlike a woman’s, but they still gave him the same feelings of desire. 

Castiel’s hands reached the top of Dean’s pants and immediately started yanking on them. His cock throbbed painfully against his tight jeans while he watched Castiel struggle to open his belt buckle. He wanted to help, wanted to release it faster than Castiel’s hands could move, but he restrained himself. There was a fire in Castiel’s eyes, a determination, and a fierce hunger that Dean hadn’t seen in him before. He recognized it. The belt buckle finally gave in and he groaned when his rock hard cock caught in the rubber band of his boxers as Castiel yanked them down along with his pants. His cock sprang free and bounced twice before it stood erect, pointing at Castiel’s hungry face. The desire in his eyes when he saw it was undeniable. 

Dean laid down beside Castiel on the bed while he kicked his pants all the way off. Castiel’s hand closed around Dean’s shaft and he began to move it up and down, slowly. Their lips were once again reunited and he savored the sweetness and the wildness that grasped him every time his tongue brushed against Castiel’s. He felt a warm hand cup his balls and gently massage them. Dean’s breath caught in his throat.

“Where did you learn that?” he gasped. Castiel grinned. “You’ve been watching porn again, haven’t you?” 

“Yes,” Castiel said bluntly, he didn’t stop working Dean’s cock. “The pizza man might know how to kiss, but I find the babysitter has a much more extensive knowledge of the male anatomy.” 

Dean burst out laughing at his deadpan expression. Angel or not, he still had no concept of social propriety. Dean rested his head beside Castiel on the pillow, gazing deep into the pair of dark blue.

“Don’t ever change, Cas,” he said softly, and kissed him. 

Castiel’s skin felt smooth under his hand as he stroked the curved hip and grabbed hold of the edge of his boxers before he slowly pulled them down. He raised his hips an inch off the bed so that Dean could slide them all the way to his knees. 

Dean’s heart quickened with excitement when he traced the length of Castiel’s firm inner thigh, closer and closer to his crotch. Blood rushed loudly in his ears, and he couldn’t keep from blushing, like a teenager who had seen his first pair of boobs. His hand moved ever closer. Both of them stopped breathing. It was as if they were stuck in time. He didn’t dare look down, though he couldn’t say what he was worried about. 

His palm touched something soft, announced by a sharp intake of breath from Castiel. Dean’s first instinct was to retract his hand, but he forced himself to keep it there. What _was_ he afraid of? _Nothing_ , he thought, unsure whether he was lying to himself or not.

“Don’t stop, Dean,” Castiel breathed. His hands froze on Dean’s aching cock. 

He took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Letting Castiel’s breath guide him he tenderly stroked the length of Castiel’s stiffening cock with a finger. It felt almost as long as his own, and it curved upward like a katana. He embraced it cautiously and felt it grow stiff in his palm. It was thick, and he sensed its pulse, swelling and relaxing the way his own did when he was maddeningly aroused. The way his own cock pulsed right now. He leaned in closer to Castiel, nuzzling his face with his nose, and began to move his hand. Stroking another man was an act he had never imagined himself capable of enjoying, but he was surprised to find that he did. 

He enjoyed it a _lot_.

Castiel worked his hands faster. Dean almost lost his mind. Unable to restrain himself he groaned and bit down softly on Castiel’s bottom lip, pulling at it before he broke the kiss. He needed release, but he needed Castiel’s lips unharmed. Instead he shifted to Castiel’s shoulder, biting the skin there harder than he had intended.

Castiel’s strokes turned longer and faster, and Dean had to put a hand over his to stop him, or this would be over embarrassingly quick. He reluctantly let go of Dean’s brimming cock. If this was truly happening and not just a dream, then Dean wanted it to last. 

He got on his knees between Castiel’s legs and licked his palm and rubbed Castiel’s cock around the head while staring enticingly into his eyes. 

Castiel gasped in surprise, throwing his head back, and Dean grinned. 

“The babysitter’s not the only one who knows a thing or two about the male anatomy,” he said teasingly. He worked his hand at a steady pace, slowly at first, then, at Castiel’s approval, faster and faster. Stealing Castiel’s move he cupped his balls in his other hand and massaged them firmly, gently kneading them with his fingers. Castiel grunted and Dean felt his legs tense so hard that they trembled, squeezing against his own thighs.

Dean wetted a finger with his tongue and reached down and gently eased it into Castiel. He sucked in air at the sudden intrusion, and Dean stopped for a moment, looking for signs of pain. Castiel’s blue eyes glittered hungrily. There was no pain there, only lust and pleasure. He resumed.

His own groin throbbed with a yearning ache, and the feeling of Castiel tightening around his slowly rocking finger only made the wait all the more maddening. The former angel arched his back and moaned loudly.

Eventually, Castiel started moving his hips in the rhythm of Dean’s strokes, his chest rising and falling as he heaved for air. Dean watched Castiel’s right thigh and marveled at the muscles tightening there, over and over again. It moved with Dean’s speed. When he stroked fast, the tension rose, when he held back, Castiel relaxed too. 

He felt the cock swell in his palm, ready to burst, and he grasped it with both hands before he slowed to a harder and steadier rhythm.

Castiel dug his fingers into the mattress and pushed against Dean’s thrusts with a ferocity that Dean was only too happy to return. 

The pressure built. Dean stroked Castiel’s glistening cock faster and faster. Grunts and moans spilled from Castiel’s lips and it spurred Dean further. He felt a deep-seated warmth in his heart to be the first to introduce Castiel to heights that he had probably never even dreamed of. 

The pressure built and built until Castiel’s breath caught in his throat and Dean _knew._

Suddenly Castiel roared. His spasms were so intense that his back arced off the bed, his head pressed against the mattress until he was almost upside down, and he came all over Dean’s hands. 

Dean brought him gently back down and leaned in for another kiss, thinking he would need a minute to get back to earth, but Castiel wasted not a moment as he eagerly grabbed Dean by the shoulders and pulled him down, switching places. He forced Dean’s head down into the pillow with his lips and ran his hand up and down the length of his long neglected cock. 

“That feels so good,” Dean gasped. “A-plus for the babysitter!” 

“I didn’t learn this from the babysitter,” Castiel said. Dean laughed. It felt good to laugh again. If Castiel could only relax a bit, slow down and show some _emotion_ , but Dean knew that was quite a bit too much to ask. He was not the type, and Dean had to admit that he loved him for that. It was proof that losing his divinity had not changed him. 

“Well, A-plus for you, then.” Dean wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him down, sucking passionately on his lips. Castiel got a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 

“But I learned something else,” he said after breaking the kiss. “Do you want me to show you, Dean?” A spike of excitement thrilled through Dean. What a _question_!

“Yes,” he said immediately.

Castiel leaned down and playfully nibbled on Dean’s left nipple, just barely clearing the threshold of pain. He enjoyed it just fine, but he had a feeling that it was not what Castiel had meant. Indeed, Castiel spent no more than a second or two there before his head continued the journey further on down. _That’s what I’m talking about_ , Dean thought, grinning as Castiel tickled his stomach with his tongue, steadily moving down, down, _down_. His cock throbbed longingly in Castiel’s unmoving hand. He needed relief. The suspense drove him insane! 

Castiel seemed to find great amusement in his agony. He stared teasingly at Dean beneath his thick eyebrows, his grinning teeth shining in the soft light from the fire. 

“For fuck’s sake, Cas! _What did you learn_?” he pleaded. He was one second away from surrendering to his desires and push Castiel’s head down with force. 

As an answer, Castiel extracted his thick glistening tongue and licked the entire length of Dean’s cock in one smooth motion, from the valley between his balls, along the thick shaft, and all the way up to the oozing head. Once there, he circled it three times with his tongue, lustfully licking up the moisture that had settled there, before he opened his mouth and _devoured_ it.

Dean saw stars. 

Shivers of delight overwhelmed him and for a moment he lost track of time. The bed beneath him ceased to exist, and he floated through bliss. And when he finally returned to reality, he was met by something even _better_. 

Castiel’s head bobbed up and down, not too quickly, but not too slow either. He had found Dean’s sweet spot, and by the look of his eyes, he knew it. He brought Dean right up to the very edge and he kept him there. Dean had never felt anything like it. The slightest caress should have been enough to push him over the edge, but Castiel was caressing him. How was this possible? He tightroped on the razor’s edge, yet the raging storm didn’t throw him off balance.

The answer came when Castiel massaged his balls again. Oh yes, he was losing balance. He was losing it _fast_.

“Cas,” he whimpered. It was not time yet. He still wanted more. “Cas, stop.” His arm trembled as he touched Castiel’s hair and tried to push him off. He was seconds away from exploding. The pressure built. _Oh, God._ “Cas!” 

He jerked upright on the bed and frantically pushed Castiel away from his swelling cock. It popped out of his mouth and smacked against his stubbly chin before Dean could get it clear of the protesting man. He pried Castiel’s fingers open in frenzy and scooted back on the bed, away from him. His cock convulsed violently, _so close_ to bursting!

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said, looking distressed. “I’m just so… _hungry_.”

Dean got his breath back under control and leaned in closer. _Did he really just apologize again_? “Stop saying that,” he said softly, embracing Castiel, nuzzling his nose, their foreheads touching. “You did nothing wrong. I just want this to last, okay?”

Castiel suddenly grinned. “You taste awesome, Dean.” 

Dean barked a laugh, and without skipping a beat, he said, “I know.” But before he could even finish the sentence, Castiel pushed him back and once again devoured his cock with a vicious passion. 

“Fuck, Cas!” he exclaimed, annoyed yet secretly thrilled. He made a weak attempt to push Castiel away, but the pressure returned and he instantly lost himself beyond the point of no return. 

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. He frantically tapped Castiel’s shoulder in warning, but he didn’t back off. If anything, Dean’s warning only spurred him to go even faster. _Seriously?_

It was too much. He couldn’t contain himself any longer. Castiel’s hands worked faster and faster while he gorged on the head at the same time. Dean’s body tensed as the orgasmic spasms reached him and he exploded within the divine depths of Castiel’s mouth. Waves of heavenly pleasure overwhelmed him, ravaged him until he could not hear nor see nor feel. He was outside of time and space and he collapsed as blissful shiver after shiver convulsed through his body, raising him higher than he had ever been before. 

Castiel slid up beside him and wrapped his arms around him tightly, and they stayed like that until the aftershocks eventually subsided and Dean could finally breathe again. He planted a loving kiss on Castiel’s wet lips and nuzzled his neck, desperately holding on to that feeling as long as he possibly could. They both clung to each other as if it was the last moment they would ever spend together.

* * *

Dean woke violently to the sound of a crash. 

He jerked upright and looked around, and for a moment he had no idea where he was. Not until he noticed Castiel sleeping soundly beside him did he remember. 

The _crash_ sounded again, shaking the entire cabin with its force. Dean leapt up and had barely time to pull on his boxers when the door fell off its hinges and landed on the floor in a cloud of dust. Castiel sprang from the bed and stepped in front of Dean, taking no notice of his nudity. Dean gaped.

In the door, enveloped by the glare of the morning sun and wearing a white dress, stood Sam.

“Hello, Dean,” he said with a smug grin. 

“Sam?” _Impossible_!

“Not exactly,” Sam said and stepped into the cabin. He gave Castiel no more than a passing glance as he gazed half-heartedly around the room. “So this is where you are hiding. I was looking all of yesterday for you. Figured you might have gone straight down the road to Detroit. I would have had a much harder time finding you there, you know.” 

“Lucifer!” Dean growled. Without thinking he charged at Lucifer, meaning to tear him apart with his bare hands. Lucifer lazily raised his hand and an invisible force hit Dean in the chest, throwing him into the wall. 

“Now, now, Dean.” Sam’s voice mocked. Castiel looked at Dean with worry, but he didn’t move. “Let’s not get carried away. I’m not here to kill you.” Dean tried to speak but found his mouth gagged. “I’m here to let you know that this little game of ours ends now. We’ve both had our fun. But this time I won’t have it. It has begun.”

“What has?” Castiel asked gravely. Lucifer glanced annoyed at him and released Dean from the gag, but not from his bonds. Then he turned on his heels and walked out the door, answering smugly over his shoulder. 

“The end.”

The bonds disappeared and Dean fell to his knees. He immediately sprang up and ran out the door. _No_! He searched desperately for any signs of Lucifer, but he and Castiel were alone. 

“Sam said yes?” he snapped, turning on Castiel with fire in his eyes. “He said yes, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know, Dean.”

“Swear it!” 

Castiel looked Dean in the eye without flinching. “I swear to God.” Dean searched his eyes but he found no lies there. Castiel put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dean.” 

Dean ignored him, clenching his fists. His mind was racing. Sam had said yes to Lucifer. What could possibly have made him do such a thing? He had said yes to the _devil_. The devil was loose. The Apocalypse was coming! 

Castiel made as if to hug him, but Dean shook him away and strode back into the cabin to put on his clothes. Castiel followed him inside and watched in silence as Dean pulled his pants on. He stomped his feet into his shoes and picked up his jacket while pulling the shirt over his head. Castiel was still staring at him when he was done.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” Dean snapped. “Put some goddamn clothes on, Cas! We’ve got work to do.”


End file.
